


Heaven Shakes; Hell Abides

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Arguing, Chronic Pain, Communication Failure Men, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stephen Strange, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post Accident Stephen, Slow Burn, Snarky Stephen Strange, Snarky Tony Stark, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wheelchairs, fibromyalgia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-08-11 11:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: After his accident, Stephen withdrew from the world for months. Christine eventually managed to get through to him and show him his life was far from over. There were setbacks, true, but Stephen was determined to get his life in order once again which is how he found himself accepting a teaching position miles away from New York, in a high school near Boston.That's where he met Tony Stark, and where the last of his reluctance to live seemed to vanish.Iron Man Bingo 2019 Fill, S1: "School Teacher AUIronstrange Bingo 2019 Fill, B3: "Disability"H/C Bingo 2019 Fill, O3: "Accidents"





	1. It's something in his voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenalunera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenalunera/gifts).

> New fic! I've been working on this for a while and I'm really hoping you'll like it! This first chapter is fairly short but the next ones lengthen (average 2-3k), promise!
> 
> This was cheered by my amazing friend SerenaLunera from the very start and betad by the equally lovely Betheflame who was incredibly helpful, thank you darlings! 💚

__ Stephen entered the lab without even thinking of looking at the door panel before walking in. He was still in the exploration phase of this new job, hence the surprise when he found the lab was actually already occupied. 

A man, brown hair, tan skin and tight black tee-shirt, was hunched over some complicated wiring elements, using a magnifying glass and a pair of tweezers to move around his work. He did not even look up from it when Stephen stepped closer. 

Stephen cleared his throat. Didn't work. 

“Excuse me?” he couldn't help it, his annoyance read loud and clear in the tone of his voice. 

The man only issued a short tsk in answer. 

“I was told I could visit the labs this afternoon so…” Stephen gestured in front of him, leaving the end of his sentence to fade into the whiskey brown eyes that finally looked up to frown at him. 

The eyes seemed to scan him from head-to-toe in a matter of seconds, leaving Stephen feeling somewhat flushed. 

“What do you teach?” The man’s voice was gruff around the edges but mostly just sang into Stephen's ears - he shook his head a little to clear it from his brain. 

“Health. Dr. Strange. Would you mind?” he squared his stance a bit, the man seemed to smile at that but Stephen couldn't be sure with the desk lamp that sat in the way. 

“I'm Stark, Engineering. And yes I would. I would stand and show you around if that's what you wanted but one, I can't,” the man flicked a finger to the left and Stephen followed the movement. 

His eyes fell on the wheelchair he'd not noticed before even though it was placed right next to the man's stool. He didn't get much time to ponder over his obliviousness before the man started again and Stephen's eyes snapped back to his hands as they moved to count, “And two, I have a feeling what you meant was more along the lines of get out of here so I can peruse every corner in peace. And that's not gonna happen either because you see, I happen to have booked this very lab for another two hours. So. Would  _ you  _ mind?” 

Stephen raised an eyebrow but it was clear this Mr Stark wasn't going to back down so he nodded slowly before clicking his tongue, “Apologies for disturbing your work, I shall come back at a later time.” 

He turned and left the room feeling flustered and for reasons that seemed to go beyond annoyance, whether he would admit it to himself or not. 

That had been the first time Stephen met Tony Stark and he'd made a fool of himself. He tried not to think about it too much in the days that followed, but he frankly didn't get much time to dwell with all the classes he had to teach in addition to his clinic shifts. But he also didn't forget about him - each glimpse he caught of the man in the hallways, the cafeteria or the teacher's lounge bringing the memory of his snark back to the forefront of Stephen's mind, if only for a minute or two. Then he had to deal with the usual student worries of upcoming exams and  _ “Do you do extra credit assignments?”. _

Accepting this position had been an easy enough decision, even if working with kids this age wasn't exactly Stephen's call in life, he figured he could do a pretty good job of it. So here he was. 

Or actually, here is what led him  _ there _ , staring at Tony Stark's face across from him in the lounge. It was lunch recess, the room was swarming with people, a good few of them nice enough to be curious about who Stephen was and yet, he answered in two words or less before going right back to gazing at the man above his science magazine. 

Said magazine went flipping up so he could hide the second the man turned his head and noticed Stephen's eyes on him. Stephen internally groaned - he was apparently reduced to acting like a teenager now, it was embarrassing. 

The bell, thankfully, gave him the perfect excuse to get up and leave in step with a dozen other teachers. 

That was the most he saw of Stark for another week and a half, not that he was counting. 

Stephen left a particularly noisy class of sophomores with a ton of instructions for the next paper and the equally heavy bibliography that went with it. It was  _ not _ payback for their attitude, only maybe it was. Nonetheless, he was quite glad that he was done with his day.

He retrieved his backpack from behind his desk and hopped off the dias. He couldn't get to the door fast enough, couldn't close it fast enough, couldn't pay enough attention not to bump into hard metal and warm flesh alike. 

“What the--”

Stephen's calf hurt like nothing else but the reason became quite apparent when he looked down and met the same brown eyes he'd found himself fantasizing about, glaring up at him. 

“Oh God. I'm sorry, you okay?”

“I might, if you could start looking before you run into rooms or say,  _ people _ ,” the man said, rubbing at one of his knees the whole time.

He shifted in his chair and the immediate flinch that distorted his features did not miss Stephen's notice this time. He couldn't just stand there. 

“Chronic pain?” 

Stark positively glowered at him, “None of your business.” 

Stephen held out his hands as much to deflect the man's aggressivity as to offer support for his next sentence, “Car accident. I might just happen to know great physical therapists. That's all I meant with the question. I'll leave you alone now, sorry.”

Stephen’s head hung low as he left the hallway, cursing his ever shitty bedside manners and general lack of understanding of basic human interactions. 

He didn't turn back, shameful and angry as he was. So he didn't see the stunned look that slowly shifted to an almost-there smile on Tony's face, intrigued. 

He didn't see how Tony stayed staring at the void that stood where Stephen had been, blinking in surprise, lost in thought until the bell rang again.


	2. It's something in his eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Hope you'll like it! This was once again beta'd by the adorable betheflame!

To say that Stephen was avoiding Tony Stark would be but the beginning of an understatement. He was  _ fleeing _ the guy like the plague and not because he didn't like him, no, more like, because he couldn't be face to face with him without embarrassing himself over and over and well, Stephen was a proud man. Enough was enough. 

Also because he couldn't help blushing any time he thought of Tony anymore and that was just too close to the behavior he'd expect his students to have. Sometimes he wished he had a cape of some sort to drape himself in and hide for a few days, weeks even, long enough for the other man to forget he ever met the mess Stephen was. Better even, he could have a  _ cloak _ . 

But he didn't, and there's just not enough space in a high school for two teachers of the same department to not cross paths. Stephen was a logical being but he couldn't help wishing for Hogwarts-like secret passages to just appear on his way to and fro his classroom and the lounge. 

He was muttering to himself about being late to his clinic appointments when he saw Tony again. At least there wasn't any stumbling and clanking this time, there wasn't any more entitlement to be found on his part either, he'd been cured of that the very first time he'd met the man, thank you very much. 

Stephen was resolved to ignore the sight of him and go on his way as though he hadn't noticed him but then Tony flashed him a smile from the door of his own classroom and Stephen felt his feet take roots in the ugly linoleum of the corridor. Damnit. 

Tony rolled up to him leisurely, uncaring of the students he forced to part to the sides to let him pass,  _ good for him,  _ Stephen thought. He was still in the “stick close to the walls and you won't get shouldered” phase of his acclimation to the school. 

“Mr. Strange,” Tony nodded politely. 

His hands twitched and in the end, he couldn't resist the lifelong habit, he sighed through it, hating himself just a little bit, “Doctor, it's actually Doctor Strange.” 

His arms laid motionless at his sides as he internally facepalmed but Stark only smiled wider. 

“Uh huh? Well,  _ Doctor _ ,” the man started again and Stephen shivered at the undertone there, “I'm having a sort of get-together with some of the other teachers tonight, my place, interested?” 

It took a second for Stephen's brain to process the question but he was nodding before he'd fully understood it. That was unexpected to say the least.

“Yes?” he hadn't meant for it to sound that much like a question but what can you do.

Tony didn't miss a beat though and nodded in turn, “Perfect, I'll text you my address.” 

He turned around and went off before Stephen thought of calling him back, he didn't have his number. 

Except he apparently did. The text Stephen received but a half-hour later proved it clearly enough. The flutter in his chest at the wink emoji that accompanied it, that, proved other things, things Stephen decided to bury under his foot as he smiled at his first patient of the day. 

“What can I do for you today, Mrs. Gibbs?” 

The afternoon flew by before Stephen could catch a breath and he was dead-tired and ready to go to bed when he remembered the little party he'd agreed to go to. Stephen's shoulders sagged even as his back tensed up in anticipation, talk of contrast, nothing made sense anymore lately. He made his way to the car with a whispered goodbye to the nurse behind the counter and drove home to the sound of REO Speedwagon; that always did put him in a better mood. Only if his playlist could have chosen another song than  _ Can't Fight This Feeling _ he'd have appreciated the gesture. 

It was getting ridiculous, Stephen Strange did not fret over what to wear. Ever. Only he didn't know if this was a casual thing or more of a formal, cordial relations type-of-thing, and that did send him off his groove a little.

In the end, he settled for a white cotton shirt and grey tweed pants, classy but not over the top. He was tempted to roll the sleeves over his forearms but couldn't bring himself to do it. His hands were one thing, he couldn't exactly wear gloves to class or say, eat, but his arms? There was no necessity to show them, nope. 

He was expected at 8 and Stephen was never late, so at 8 sharp, here he was, knocking on the front door of a house the likes of which he might have been able to afford a few years back, at the height of his career but had never been so cautious as to actually buy it. Now though, he could forget it big time. 

It wasn't that much of a hardship, learning how to live with less, but it did make him second-guess himself much more frequently than he'd been used to. Some,  _ looking at you Christine _ , might say it did him good even but it was still hard to envision his accident this way. He wasn't sure he'd ever be there really. 

The door opened before he could fall deeper into the pit of self psychoanalysis and that was just as well. 

Until his breath was punched out of him by the sight of none other than the owner of the house, fabulous Tony Stark, clad in much the same fashion as Stephen only with a blue shirt and black vest that did nothing to prevent Stephen's eyes from straying and staring at the man's shoulders. 

Tony cleared his throat, a sweet twinkle in his eyes and Stephen felt himself blush immediately. Why the man had such an effect on him was getting tiring to figure out, so Stephen tried not to stress over it. Maybe he would actually enjoy himself tonight.

"Well if it isn't  _ Doctor _ Strange," Tony smiled some more, getting out of the way before extending an arm towards the inside of the house, "Welcome, come in," 

Stephen jerked a nod before stepping inside, even he could tell his walking was stiff but there was no helping it with the way the other man was looking at him right then. Stephen was not a school girl, even as he chastised himself for acting as such more and more as the days passed and couldn't seem to make it go away. He  _ was _ a grown man and he knew what the look in Tony's eyes meant. He also knew what the man licking his lips as he did when Stephen turned back around once he'd hung his coat on the rack opposite Tony was hinting at. 

He raised an eyebrow at Tony, "Am I the first to have arrived?" 

The man nodded but didn't bother verbalizing. He closed the door and moved down the entryway to what Stephen discovered was a stunning living room of white marble on the floor and white paint on the rare walls that weren't just plain made of floor-to-ceiling windows. Beautiful.

Stephen made a turn on himself looking around the room until he heard Tony chuckle, then he came to a halt and made it so that he was facing him again.

"I do love this room, the view is better during the day, though."

It was hard not to pounce on the man when he was looking at Stephen the way he did, as much predatory and calculating as vulnerably amazed. Neither side of that look made any sense to Stephen, and he remembered their second-to-last encounter all too well to risk hurting the man again with his clumsiness. 

His eyes must have shown some of his train of thought, probably darting to the wheelchair for a second too long for Tony not to see it. It didn't seem to bother him too much though. He was still smiling when he answered the question Stephen would never have asked, "I have days, today is okay enough but I thought the chair would be safer, yesterday hurt like hell but I guess that's the very definition of chronic pain, right?" 

Stephen held Tony's focused gaze without offering any sign of understanding for several beats before casting his eyes away, letting go of the connection. He didn't know what made him do it, much like he didn't know how he'd found the strength to offer the sight of his hands as an explanation that last time at school but he answered truthfully.

"I would know," his hands were trembling something bad, again, and he was tempted to just fold them in the confines of his pockets but that was never a good idea, not if he didn't want to cry in pain later. He'd obviously rather not. "Hands and neck for me. Sometimes even getting dressed seems impossible." 

Something unreadable flashed across the other man's face, smoothing all of his features even as his shoulders upped up a notch further into his neck, sympathy pain? Maybe. 

They stared at each other for a few moments longer until Tony motioned for him to sit on the giant couch in the sitting area and Stephen went. He sat gingerly, half his backside touching the cushions as he rested his elbows on his knees waiting for Tony to come back from the kitchen with the drinks he'd offered. Stephen had refrained from offering his help and he just knew that look in Tony's eyes had been gratefulness this time. He could relate. 

Stephen looked around the place some more as he waited for Tony to be back. Somehow his previous nervousness was waning down. His hands weren't steady by any means, but they never were anymore.

The room had a peacefulness to it that seemed almost eerie. The white all around and the softly playing piano music in the background soothed Stephen to the bone and he tried not to relax back on the couch but there was nothing to prevent him from it, not even old habits and newfound social issues.

He was sitting with his back flush to the cushions by the time Tony got back, a bottle of red wine wedged between his left hip and the armrest of his wheelchair, the wine glasses nestled between his thighs. 

Stephen told himself not to stare, asked himself not to embarass himself, yelled at himself not to blush when he looked up and met Tony's gaze again. 

Tony was smirking right at him and in another lifetime Stephen would have felt threatened by that; he might have stormed out of the place before giving either of them a chance at analyzing what it meant and rebuked any sensible explanation anybody could have given him for it. He stayed put and tried to smile back. 

Pretty sure it came off as an awkward, lopsided grimace, but Tony's eyes kept on sparkling. 

Stephen accepted the wine glass he was handed, trying not to show all of his cards when he realized Tony had only barely filled half of it. He didn't know if he'd done it by design, didn't know if it was just a random line the man poured to and stopped. Could be either, could be neither; Stephen looked up again and knew. 

Tony was averting his gaze, looking out the window in a distinct show of innocence that wasn't real. Stephen smiled at the man's profile.

He took his time analyzing the lines and angles of it, enjoying the way the dim lighting reflected on the man's bronze skin and rippled down the length of blue silk his shirt was made of. 

"Your other guests running late?" Stephen finally said when it seemed Tony was lost in thought. 

He put his wine glass on the coffee table as carefully as humanly possible and let out a barely perceivable breath of relief when it sat perfectly still and tidy on the top of the furniture. 

"They usually are." Tony said and the smile that played across his features both, indulgent and amused, told Stephen he didn't mind it much, "They say it's payback. I used to be the kind of person that shows up two hours late and expected no one would mind." 

Stephen's eyes, fixed on every little expression that passed over Tony's face, told him he wasn't sad about it per se - there was nostalgia in Tony's tone, but the kind you get when you remember fond memories, not ones that have been traumatically yanked away. 

Tony narrowed his eyes at Stephen's inquisitive look, "You planning on just sitting there and stare at me?" 

Stephen coughed. The bluntness took him by surprise and he was sure he blushed again. Tony chuckled, smug bastard. 

"What if I am?" He answered despite the nerves that folded his throat. 

Tony's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he grinned. 

"I guess that's fair. Haven't done much else than that myself since you got here." 

"Wh--" Stephen started but the bell interrupted him - them, this, their conversation. 

Tony winked at him, "Saved by the gong," and rolled off to the front door. 


	3. It's something he does

_ "Saved by the gong." _

Stephen got up when he heard new voices and steps down the hallway but stayed by the couch, not sure what good it would do to be in the way of the newcomers. He was nervous. 

It's not like he'd ever been great at making friends; most days he couldn't even manage small talk. 

Those people already seemed to be laughing and the sound of Tony's laughter echoed up to Stephen's ears who smiled without knowing he did. It was a lovely sound, a carefree one that spoke of gentleness and mischief. 

God, he was so fucked. Already. He should have listened to Christine and stayed at her place, working at the clinic near the hospital instead of fleeing the place like the plague by fear of encountering old colleagues. What a feast he would make for their hungry egos.

Stephen looked down at himself, at his shoes shiny from the polish he used in industrial doses, at his shirt still crisp and unruffled despite the way he passed his hands over it in nerves, at his slacks that he knew Christine loved for ungodly reasons. 

That woman was a godsend. He'd lost track of just how lucky he was to have her in his life but then again, maybe the harshness of their last exchanges before he left New York for good was what it took for the both of them to stop hurting each other trying. He was never going to be into women no matter how beautiful and kind one was, and the way his eyes immediately located Tony's among the three people that were currently blocking most of his view as they came into the room was proof enough of that. 

The way his eyes strayed to the man's squared shoulders and arms as they strained to move him along was a testament if there ever was one. 

So fucked. 

He managed to look up at the other guests when Tony raised an eyebrow at him, looking amused but also on the verge of clearing his throat so Stephen would gratify them with his attention. 

He did that. He almost sat back in shock when he recognized who had entered though. Bruce Banner and Natasha Romanov were one thing, he'd met each of them briefly in the teachers' lounge during the previous weeks but Steve Rogers was another pair of sleeves entirely. 

Stephen nodded at each of them, "Good evening," but didn't offer his hand. He never did that anymore and maybe people thought it was weird but the pain and shame he felt the first few times he tried to keep up with that way of doing things had taught him he didn't care. 

Tony quickly took back his role of master of ceremony and led everyone to the dining room down another hallway that was entirely made of windows. 

Stephen tried not to stare this time around but damn. This room seemed even more spectacular than the last. 

Apart from the section of room that connected it to the hallway they'd just gone through, the room was circular and overwatching the sea, the light spots set in the floor all along the windows allowing them to look out at the furious ocean with astounding clarity.

The hardwood floors were polished in a way that almost matched Stephen's shoes and the table looked ebony black from where Stephen was standing. 

So. He did stare. 

And Tony did clear his throat this time, passing by him in a swish of rubber and a touch to Stephen's elbow. 

"If everyone could sit? Dinner will be ready in ten. No Steve, I do not need help," Tony smiled as he said it but Stephen knew better than thinking he wasn't at least a little bit annoyed. 

People never meant ill, they just had misplaced sentiments when it came to disabilities. He'd learnt that the hard way and judging by the way Tony winked at Steve, a no-hard-feelings kind of thing, Tony was one step ahead of him in giving others some slack on that end. 

Stephen smiled, he felt warm inside as he sat at the table, next to Banner and facing Romanov. 

That was, until the very thing he'd come here to do finally registered in his brain and his smile faltered. 

This was a  _ dinner _ party. Where people ate. Together. Around a table. Where everyone could look and see him eat. 

This was a nightmare. Had to be. 

Stephen passed a trembling finger between his neck and the collar of his shirt. Too tight suddenly. 

He didn't see the way Natasha's eyes twitched in understanding, nor the way his neighbor gave him a side glance. He took as discreet a deep breath as he could and sat back in his chair, his hands suddenly sweaty. He rubbed at his thighs and tried to stave off the panic, to calm his thumping heart some. 

Maybe later he'd look back on this moment and think he'd been foolish, stupidly nervous. He didn't know Tony Stark yet. Didn't know him as a person and even less his friends.

Tony came back into the room just when Stephen was starting to welcome the panic attack, surrendering to the inevitability of it. 

He came back with five pizza boxes stacked on top of his legs as he whistled his way back in. 

Stephen almost laughed; at him, at himself, at the situation. But no one would have understood that - or so he thought - so he just grinned at his carefully folded napkin and took a sip of his wine. 

He met Natasha's eyes above the rim of his glass and saw her smiling at him faintly, the knowing glint in her eyes clear enough that even he could read it after having only truly met her a half-hour before. 

He met Banner's eyes briefly when Tony took a turn to find his spot at the end of the table and Stephen followed him with his gaze. Bruce gave him the same knowing look that Natasha had and that's when Stephen realized they'd seen right through him.

That used to be a near-impossible task. People could never tell what went on in his head, so much so that they thought him cold and without a care in the world. 

_ Well done you, Stephen, you've managed to make it the complete opposite _ . 

He couldn’t find the focus to continue that train of thought, however, not when he caught Tony’s gaze from across the table. His eyes shone bright with the knowledge that he'd done something right and even if vulnerability wasn't Stephen's strong suit, he was grateful. 

Dinner went on without much of a hitch. Stephen had heard many stories starring Tony Stark since he'd arrived in the city, all of them involving his ability to entertain a crowd in some capacity or other. 

He wasn't disappointed. Their companions for the night weren't at fault either but there was just something - Stephen couldn't quite put his finger on it yet - that made any of Tony's interventions just a little brighter and more intriguing than anyone else's. 

It was rather pleasant taking a seat back and just enjoying the warmth that surrounded the man, a halo of Tony’s presence that glowed and inspired his friends into much the same vibe. 

Stephen answered the few questions they asked him but was surprisingly not interrogated or pushed into telling stories of his past career like he'd been so many times before. Again, not because people meant ill, they just didn't realize how much of a loss it was to him, how hard it was to even broach the subject. 

Those people seemed to realize it though. They had gentle eyes throughout any minute thing he would say about his past, interested but not inquisitive in their attentive listening. 

Stephen found himself laughing and sharing war stories of his childhood in Nebraska, listening to Steve's own about life in Brooklyn and Natasha's ghost-like stories of Russia during the era of the Soviet Union.

It was entertaining and good company. Pizza was always a go, had always been and even more since his accident rendered any attempt at eating with cutlery practically fruitless and at least a little frustrating. Sometimes maddeningly so. 

He didn't see time pass by and that was new too. He'd always been bored by others quite rapidly, the only one who'd ever been able to keep his attention long enough was Christine. 

Tony's eyes drifted on and off him throughout dinner, smiling bright and hot on Stephen's face anytime their gazes met above a glass or someone's arm reaching for more pizza. 

Even Rogers, who Stephen had been quick to judge as the typical football coach, ended up making Stephen laugh and listen carefully for the last word of the stories he told. 

Life looked and felt good in the bubble of their large dinner table and Stephen only got down from his high when it was time to go home, well past midnight and he froze at the door. 

Natasha and Bruce had already left and Steve was driving off on a motorcycle they would still hear once he reached the next highway. Stephen stood unmoving on the threshold of Tony's house, his coat hanging limply in his hand and almost reaching the paved ground. 

It was night time. Pitch black dark out there and Stephen's breathing started acting up again. 

He almost let his coat fall with how much his grip loosened at the shock of the realization of just exactly how stupid he'd been, again. 

He heard steps behind him but didn't register them, didn't even register the fact that steps were the last thing he expected to hear right then.

"You okay?" Tony's voice filtered through the fog of his mind and the high-pitched gasps Stephen couldn't stop releasing.

He nodded on instinct but it was hollow of any meaning. 

"Stephen?" Tony sounded concerned and that's the only thing that prompted Stephen to turn around. 

He knew what he looked like when he got like this. His cheeks flushed and his hair gradually matted down with cold sweat. His skin slowly covered itself in a thin sheen of perspiration he would stop to find gross if he just could get a deep breath in. The fact that Tony had left his wheelchair in the other room and was now looking at him standing on his feet didn't even give him pause.

"Stephen? You're freaking me out, what is it?" Tony reached out, touched his elbow in a ghost of his earlier touch before visibly coming to a decision when Stephen still couldn't answer. 

Tony grabbed both his shoulders between firm hands and guided him back inside. 

In a matter of seconds they were back in the living room and Tony forced him to sit on the couch again, kneeling in front of him. 

"Breathe for me, can you do that? Deep breaths, in and out, and in, and out, come on," Tony's face was the only point of focus Stephen could keep, his vision tunnelled and dark around the edges. "In and out, breathe for me Stephen," Tony kept saying and it was getting a little easier to do so by the second, "That's good, you're doing great, keep going, deep breath through your nose, let it out through your mouth. Good, that's good," 

Stephen almost whimpered when Tony rose to his feet again but the man shushed him gently, "Just gonna get you some water."

And true to his word, Tony was back in no time, a small water bottle in hand. He sat sideways on the couch to face Stephen and brushed back the fringe of Stephen's hair that hung low on his forehead. Stephen grimaced at how clammy he felt but Tony just kept on smiling at him, soft and patient. 

"My accident," Stephen started when he felt his breathing wouldn't go haywire again, "It was at night. I...I don't drive at night, I barely drive as it is but never...never at night anymore." 

Tony's eyes shone with understanding and then his smile grew larger, much closer to the smiles Stephen had tried not to be too obvious staring at during dinner. Stephen frowned until Tony waved a dismissive hand on his knee.

"Would you believe me if I told you I have a few guest bedrooms to choose from?" 

His eyes were back to their mirthful sparkling and Stephen, dazed as he was, felt Tony's gaze on him like the most refreshing wave. 

"I'd be inclined to believe you do, yes," Stephen tried to give a smile of his own but his eyes were still watery and his hands trembled so much it made his arms buzz as well - he mustn't have been the prettiest sight right then. 

"It's settled then, no more panicking, just a very nice room with a very comfy bed, if I may say so myself, and tomorrow you can go home in broad daylight, yeah?"

Stephen nodded, "Thank you, Tony, I--"

"Don't be silly, it's fine, c'mon," Tony got up again, hissing as he did so but he didn't say anything after that, just got to the hallway they'd taken earlier and Stephen followed him just as quietly.


	4. And the way I react

Sleep only rarely came easy to Stephen nowadays and he was ready to become intimate with every detail of Tony's guest bedroom, from floor to ceiling and all the furniture in between. Except he must have misjudged the toll that his repeated waves of anxiety throughout the night had taken on him, because he did fall asleep rather quickly. 

He'd stopped pretending he  _ wasn't _ staring at Tony's house as the man led him down two hallways, past numerous doors, and an open working area that looked like it had its place at MIT. There was just too much to look at, to be amazed at, and Stephen wondered if Tony had been the one to design and decorate all this. It must have shown too, because the man had turned around with a little smirk and murmured, "Pepper Potts, she's the best at what she does."

The name was familiar to Stephen, as the woman was indeed quite famous in the circles of people who had too much money and space but too little time or care to devote to their interiors. He'd only nodded though, not entirely sure how much of his ability to speak he'd regained in the last few minutes. 

The same gentle smirk adorned Tony's features when he stopped in front of a door that must have been his bedroom. He came out with a bundle of silky-looking clothes in one hand and some sort of travel bathroom case in the other. 

"PJs? You're taller that I am, but they should fit okay, I think," Stephen blushed at the way Tony looked at him, raking his eyes over him from head to toe without a care in the world before he continued, "And I think this is pretty complete if you need to freshen up, brush your teeth, whatever." 

He'd pushed the items at Stephen's chest, only letting go when Stephen's brain clicked back on and he raised his hands to grasp at the pajamas and toiletries. 

"Thank you," his voice was barely a murmur but Tony didn't comment nor linger.

"Bathroom's right here," he'd pushed the handle of the door right next to his bedroom before taking a few steps down the hallway and on the other side of it, "And you can sleep here, tell me if you need anything else." 

Again, Stephen had nodded dumbly, the pajamas - actual silk and not just the appearance of it - were slipping between his fingers a bit. Only when Tony came back and prepared to step into his bedroom for the night did Stephen unfreeze himself. As carefully as he could in a spur of the moment decision, he disentangled one of his hands from his little package and touched Tony's shoulder. Tony stopped dead in his tracks, his right hand still on the door handle as he looked around again, eyebrows raised in question and his eyes widening at the newfound proximity between them.

"I...Thank you, Tony, you didn't have to do all this, I--"

"Don't have to thank me, just," Tony let go of the door and wiggled his shoulder from under Stephen's hand before taking a hold of it, so very gently, "Make yourself comfortable and get some sleep, okay?"

Stephen smiled at him, thankful beyond measure. He squeezed Tony's fingers gingerly before nodding to himself and retreating to the room Tony showed him. 

The pajamas felt like a wave of fresh air on his heated skin; the panic always brought cold shaking but left feverish skin in its wake. A quick trip to the bathroom and his face and teeth made Stephen feel as good as new, even with the bone-deep tiredness that threatened to force his eyes closed as he trudged back into the bedroom and slithered under the thick comforter. 

One last thought to Tony's patient gaze and the steadiness of his voice as he'd guided him back from the haze of his anxiety and Stephen fell asleep, hair astray on the pillow and his features smooth with the quiet of slumber.    
  


Stephen couldn't remember the last time he'd slept this peacefully which could only mean he'd been overdue for a lazy morning. He woke up at 8 - better than usual and as good as it would ever get. 

His eyes opened gradually, neither he nor Tony had thought of shutting the blinds of the guest bedroom and the sun filtering in had him stir slowly. A nice way to wake up really. It took him a minute to remember where he was but when he did? Stephen sat up with a start. He looked down at the silk shirt Tony had let him borrow and tried not to let mortification rise too high inside him.

Tried and failed, obviously. 

He got up, wincing at the way he pushed himself up with his hands. He'd never get used to it, or so it felt like. 

There was noise in the hallway so Stephen figured Tony was up as well. A quick look in the mirror that hung near the door gave him pause; his hair was in complete disarray, sure, but he looked rested. That was unexpected. He still passed his hands through his hair for good measure, then left the room. 

He followed the slight sounds he could hear until he stood in the living room but stopped dead in his tracks. 

Tony was on a massaging table right by the couch, face in the hole and nothing but a fluffy white towel covering his backside. The hands on him, Stephen quickly realized, were attached to the very square, very recognizable shoulders of one Coach Rogers,  _ Steve.  _

Stephen's hands went moist, he immediately felt like he was intruding and started back the way he'd come, intent on waiting it out, but Steve looked up before he could. 

"Stephen," the man nodded with a smile. He raised an eyebrow when he saw him still in pajamas but didn't otherwise comment. 

Tony lifted his head right away though, but he didn't look too fazed. He pillowed his chin on his forearms and winked at Stephen.  _ Fuck _ . 

"Hello, had a good night's sleep?" He asked like nothing was amiss. 

Stephen cleared his throat, nodding through his incapacity to talk. 

"Good morning. I-- I'll just...shower?" He said finally and whipped around without waiting for either man to answer him.

His cheeks were heated with embarrassment, one he wasn't even sure why he felt. 

His feet once again carried him while he lost himself in his own head, a million thoughts without a coherent spine attacking him into jitteriness. He went back to the bedroom he'd slept in to get the toiletry bag Tony had handed him the night before, then made his way to the bathroom his host at pointed at as well. 

A small smile managed to make its way through his racing mind when Stephen spotted a neatly folded towel placed between the twin sinks, a tube of shampoo, and another of shower gel perched on top of it, obviously meant for him.

Something fluttered near the region of his heart but then the very vivid memory of Steve's hands sliding over Tony's oiled back came down on him and the feeling dissipated. 

Stephen stepped into the italian shower, opened the tap to its maximum capacity, and stepped forward again, not even bothering to wait for the water to heat up. The cold stream splashed across his face before gliding down his body; his mind started clearing already.

The questions and doubts and fears that clouded his mind seemed all at once overwhelming, and nonsensical. Sure, he was curious about Tony, he liked him, liked the way he spoke and laughed and the way he looked at him but Stephen couldn't fathom the whys of his rather intense reaction to Steve's presence that morning.  _ Insecurities _ , said a little voice in his head that really resembled Christine's a tad too much to be ignored. 

Stephen sighed as the water turned lukewarm, then full-on hot, and he started lathering his hair and body with the soaps, the fresh smell of mint and licorice feeling his nostrils completely. He allowed himself to close his eyes and breathe for a moment. The events of the night before were still very present in his mind, and the way Tony had handled his panic attack and subsequent embarrassment so smoothly made Stephen blush; whether it was from shame or gratefulness, he couldn't tell.

Bubbles flowed down the drain and his hair fell in front of his eyes as Stephen gave a look to his hands; shaking and pruning with humidity. His face certainly showed his disgust of them but he let it go, preferring to get out and see if he could thank Tony and take his leave before the man could think he was overstaying his welcome. 

The towel was every bit as heavenly as the sheets and the pajamas had been, smooth and squishy under his touch and over his skin, it felt fantastic. 

Carefully, Stephen padded his way back to the bedroom he'd slept in and started getting dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before - thank God it was Saturday. 

He was busy thoroughly drying his hair with the towel when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see Tony standing in the doorway, his mouth slightly open. 

The look on his face once again did things to Stephen that he'd rather not analyze too quickly. 

Tony cleared his throat before it became awkward, nodded to himself, or so it seemed. "Sorry, I tried knocking but the door was open so...anyway, when you're ready, there's breakfast, just, yeah, see you there." 

And just like that, he was gone again. Only when the door clicked shut behind him did Stephen realize he was still half-naked with only the zipper of his slacks done and his chest bare. His cheeks felt hot with something entirely different from embarrassment this time, as the reason behind Tony's speechlessness finally registered with his mind.  _ Interesting. _


	5. Nothing like I thought I might

Getting to the kitchen took Stephen a few more minutes, the realization that Tony was truly carving himself a spot somewhere between his heart and his mind dawning on him fast and hard. Stephen Strange did not freak out, or at least he tried to tell himself not to; tried to convince himself he was not that guy. 

He very much was. Accepting himself as a gay man took enough of his willpower through the years, acting on it was yet another step to take. 

His clothes felt and looked crinkled what with having walked around in them all night the night before but it would have to do. 

The kitchen, he quickly realized, was just as huge and polished as the rest of the house had proven to be. A+, professional class equipment and marble countertops shining like mirrorballs. 

There was no one there though, only very appetizing, very fancy French pastries spread across the island. Stephen could still hear Tony's voice coming from a room right at the back. He thought he might be on the phone before he realized he could also hear Steve's voice coming from the slightly ajar door. 

Stephen reined in the minute instinct to clench his fists at that, ridiculous. 

He shifted from foot to foot, not knowing what to do with himself as he waited. It didn't last long. 

"You better eat some of that, Stark, I didn't make it so you could let it rot in a corner." Steve said as he came out of what seemed to be a storage room, Tony following at a leisurely pace. 

"I can feed myself just fine, Rogers." Tony answered but Stephen heard then saw the smile on his face as he said it, fond. 

Steve opened his mouth to reply back before he noticed Stephen standing there. 

"Oh you're here, good, you'll make sure he eats, I gotta fly,  _ practice _ ," the man said with a cheeky grin that made Stephen curse his own hostile instinct - jealousy was an ugly thing, and golden-boy-Rogers made it look even worse. 

Stephen only nodded in answer, not offering his hand for goodbyes but a small smile instead. 

Tony was fiddling with his coffee machine when Steve rounded the island, put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, "See you, Monday, and for the love of God, do your exercises." 

"Shall do, Mom," Tony winked at him. 

Steve showed himself out, another sign of his familiarity with the place and then they were alone again. Stephen's palms did not sweat.

"Have a seat, you're making me nervous standing like that," Tony chuckled, the full pot of coffee swaying a bit in his hand. "Want some?"

Stephen sat in one of the teak wood stools set around the island, "I don't really drink coffee anymore." He answered, then thought better of leaving it at that, "My hands shake enough of their own, thanks though. "

Tony hummed in understanding, "Noted, doc, but you gotta try the pastries. Steve's an ass about my food intake but he's a true genius in the kitchen."

"What do you suggest?" Stephen said, making a great effort not to pick up on the gentle tone of Tony's voice as he spoke about Steve. 

"You ever had  _ mille feuille _ ?" Tony asked, practically sauntering in place.

"Nope," Stephen answered and couldn't help but grin at the little squeal the other man let out at that. 

"Then definitely that, you  _ have _ to," he said, pushing a plate holding a rectangular pastry with an elegant criss-cross of black and white icing on top of it.

Stephen obediently took a forkful of it and  _ moaned _ . 

"Damn," he said once he'd swallowed all of the vanilla cream, sweet icing and crunchy but still smooth flaky pastry. 

"Told ya," Tony grinned, "Juice?" He asked holding up a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice. 

Stephen nodded, "Thanks." Then noticing the color of Tony's drink, exclaimed "What the  _ hell _ are you drinking?"

Tony chuckled around the sip he'd just taken and coughed a bit before he could answer, "Green smoothie, the only thing Steve's managed to get me to make for myself every day. Kale, avocado, apple and grapes, with almond milk." Tony enumerated with his fingers. 

He laughed when Stephen's face scrunched up with doubt. 

"It does take some getting used to." Tony said finally, his smile still firmly placed on his face. 

Stephen got lost in that sight, and Tony didn't say anything about it, just stared right back into Stephen's eyes. 

"So," Stephen cleared his throat after a while, "Steve does your PT?"

He didn't mean to ask that, or more like, he'd decided against commenting on that part.  _ Good job, Strange. _

Tony nodded, swallowing a bite of his own éclair. His eyes narrowed just a bit, "Yeah, he's been doing it ever since I met him. That was five years ago." He said, then, like an afterthought he added, "There's nothing there, by the way, me and Steve, we're friends. In case you were wondering I mean, but maybe you weren't, I'll shut my mouth now."

Stephen considered the admission, and how Tony staggered in a way he couldn't not find sweet. "Maybe I was, yes." 

Maybe he was blushing too, maybe not. Tony's round eyes and little corner-of-the-lips smile was worth it though.

"Good to know," he said in the end, and they resumed eating in a relative silence only interrupted by more smiles and looks that said much more than either of them was ready to utter out loud. 

Getting settled in his car a little over a half hour later, Stephen sighed, closed his eyes and tried to relax his hands as much as he could, then kicked off the engine. 

So much had happened over less than a day that finding his balance, both physically and mentally, was proving challenging. He tried to put all his focus on driving without starting off his reflexive panic and decided halfway through his way home that he'd call Christine once he got there. After he changed into clean clothes that is.

He could still taste the smooth vanilla of Steve's pastries and feel the gentle warmth of Tony's interested gaze on him, all tinged with hues of both his attack of the night before and the much more pleasant memories of the dinner he'd shared with Tony and his friends. His mind was spinning.

His apartment complex finally entered his field of vision and Stephen relaxed more and more with every yard of distance he covered. Closing the door of his car behind him was the single best sensation he could hope for, his mind still not totally convinced he'd indeed made it in one piece. 

Putting his key in the lock was yet another battle but for once, Stephen stayed calm. His place wasn't much compared to what he'd been used to but in the few months since he'd leased it, he'd managed to make a home here, so much so that he couldn't see the point of having so much space on his own as he'd had in New York. 

His keys hit the bowl in the entryway with a satisfying clink and Stephen made his way to his bedroom, slowly, alternating between frowning and smiling like a loon. By the time he was standing in front of his closet, Stephen had opted for a pjs Saturday, that would put him in the right place to fully calm down and relax, or he hoped it would. 

Dialing Christine's number once he was settled on his couch in his faded gray sweats took more courage that he'd anticipated, each ring she let pass inching up his nervousness. She picked up her phone on the seventh and by that time, Stephen had lost all will to pretend he wasn't calling for help.

"I need you." 

"Good morning to you too, geek. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Christine chuckled but stopped when Stephen started groaning like an overgrown teenager. "Love trouble?" 

"Tony fucking Stark," he said, with the least venom he'd ever been able to put into words - even to his own ears, he sounded whiny. 

"Tony Stark as in genius inventor, board member of your school, playboy extraordinaire Tony Stark?" Christine exclaimed, sounding more and more like a trashy magazine cover. 

"Uh uh." Stephen mumbled.

"What about him?"

Stephen considered his answer more thoroughly this time, it could go a variety of ways and yet, it was frustrating how none of them seemed to encapsulate exactly what about Tony Stephen found so interesting. Or, closer to the truth, fascinating. 

"He's gorgeous, funny, incredibly clever and warm," Stephen started counting off his shaky fingers, "Really fucking beautiful, oh no, I said that already didn't I? He managed to stave off my panic attack, let me sleep at his place so I wouldn't have to drive, looks at me like I actually matter even th--"

"Wow oh, hold on there, rewind for me please,  _ he staved off your panic attack and let you sleep at his place _ ?" 

"Oh yeah, dinner party yesterday night, with a few of the others, they were nice by the way, pretty sure you would  _ like _ Natasha. I--" Stephen fidgeted on the couch, playing with a loose thread in the cushion, "I didn't realize it would mean I'd have to drive at night, Christine, I...yeah, he was pretty great...you'd like him too, I'm sure."

There was a bout of static on the other end of the phone, like Christine just sighed into it and he could picture the way she was sitting down so clearly, how she would be passing a hand in her hair before resting her chin in her palm. 

"He sounds nice yes, so, what's the matter then? Did he not look interested?" Her voice was so soft Stephen closed his eyes, sometimes he forgot how good it felt to be able to talk to someone who knew all of him - maybe he'd have that with Tony one day, maybe he was going crazy and thinking way too far ahead already. 

"He did, he...we  _ flirted _ , I just...it's been so long, Christine, I don't know if I can do it, I'm going to make a fool of myself, and a man, a man I actually like, that's not happened in a  _ decade _ ," Stephen let his head fall on the back of the couch and peered at the ceiling. 

"You're being an idiot, Stephen Strange. Not that this is news or anything, but, yes, an idiot."

"Should I feel offended? I'm leaning towards yes, I'm offended Dr. Palmer, is that how you talk to your patients? Fabulous bedside manners that." 

"You're not one of them, hence, I will speak my mind if I want to." Christine laughed but took on a more serious note when she kept going, "Honestly, Stephen, you like him, it seems he likes you too as I'm fairly certain you've not told me half of it, where's the harm in just seeing where it goes? You know, for once in your life, try to be spontaneous and see what comes of it, could you do that?"

Stephen let a long moment pass before he answered. A thousand thoughts and memories passed through his mind, some older than others, some from just the night before and some others from the various times he'd ran into Tony since he got to Boston High - a proper disaster that had been - all of it took him back to one point and one point only though. His heart was beating just a tad quicker, his mind was just a bit fresher and livelier whenever he was in Tony's vicinity, or even thought about him. 

"Yeah, I guess I could try to see where it goes, I could give this a real try." 

"Good." Christine said and he could hear the fondness of her smile through the phone, "And call me whenever there's news, I want to know  _ everything _ ."


	6. It's something in his hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting for this one, sometimes life has that effect ;) hope you enjoy it!

Stephen Strange was never late. Or maybe only when he'd stayed awake thinking about the state of his sentimental life and its recent, timid, developments until way later than a grown man should, in his opinion. 

So here he'd gone, jolting awake at half-past eight, when he was expected at a faculty meeting not twenty-five minutes later. Damnit. 

Scrambling through a shower and getting dressed as quickly as he could after that, with the ruins that were his hands; not the best way to wake up, or start a day, or a week for that matter. 

Forsaken Mondays. 

The inevitable couldn't be helped then, no matter how late it kept him, Stephen wouldn't be caught dead speeding on the way to the school - or anywhere he had to drive to for that matter. 

Twenty minutes. He was _ twenty _, shameful, minutes late to the second faculty meeting of the year. Why did it matter that it was the second and not the third or even the first? Because it was still early enough in the school year for people to be careful how they appeared to others, and yet not completely novelty so his colleagues would necessarily recognize Stephen as he arrived, last and sweaty from it. No sneaking to an empty chair unnoticed, no ignoring the reality of his failure to function as a professional today. 

_ A bit dramatic _, Stephen thought, only for a second though because the next thing that registered in his mind was that he'd arrived right at the door of the conference room and now was the time to get in. Open that door. Get in. 

He did. All eyes on him and a few snickers here and there, a gentle but amused smile from Natasha and Steve smirking at him from one end of the table before he discreetly pointed to an empty spot, four chairs to his left. 

The only empty seat around the table, at Tony's right. 

The chances of that happening with the amount of people present were slim, so slim in fact that Stephen briefly wondered if it had been intentional. Briefly because he did have to actually sit at some point and because the moment he looked into Tony's eyes he knew. 

The man smiled at him with the brightness that always seemed to shine in a halo around him and Stephen had to clear his throat, softly, as quietly as he could, just so he could clear his head as well. 

"Hi," Tony whispered once Stephen was settled and ready to pretend he was listening to everything the mighty principle had to say. 

Stephen gave him a side-glance, a side-smile, and all his attention. 

"Morning," he mouthed and tried, so very hard not to get sucked in into the browns of that gaze, warm and sparkling. 

Tony was in his chair today, Stephen noticed, his fleeting look towards one of its wheels wasn't lost on the other man, who simply shrugged in answer. _ "I have days." _ Tony had said back at his house, easy enough to conclude today was one of them. 

It didn't prevent Tony from bouncing his knee all throughout the meeting, occasionally bumping their legs together and making Stephen's focus fray on the edges with how much he wanted to reach out, lay his hand on Tony's thigh, soothe his restlessness and just, share warmth, maybe. 

The meeting was all a blur, an endless string of _ Topics of the Day _ , and dates being jotted down and _ Guidelines _ and will you please let your students know this and that and Stephen nodded, hummed his agreement in all the right places; nothing could catch his attention, much less his interest, when the only thought in his mind was how close Tony was, how very very close the man who'd kept him awake was and how reminiscent it was of Friday night, the change in setting not factoring in at all.

One thing Stephen had noted upon arriving in this school, was the very welcome specificity of its schedule - Wednesdays were kept open for the athletes' practices and for any clubs and associations students may want to take part in. As a result, most of the faculty, save for the coaching team, was free for the day. 

Therefore, when Stephen half-heard, half-figured the principal mentioned the upcoming Wednesday, he perked up a bit, intrigued. 

"Our traditional faculty party will take place tomorrow night, I expect all of you to attend, within the limitation of your service the next day," Principal Fury marked a pointed pause, "Meeting point is set in the teacher's lounge." 

And that concluded the meeting. 

Tony's eyes, when Stephen got up from his chair and met his gaze, were full of a mischievous glee that made him shiver. Neither said a word though, but Tony winked at him, his features crinkling in a flirtatious grin that made him look younger somehow and made Stephen feel warmer, too. 

"Have a good day," Tony said as he got away from the table, "See you tomorrow night."

Another wink, as if his point had any chance not to hit home, and Tony rolled away with his school bag dangling from the back of his chair.   
  
\---

Stephen didn't have much time to dwell and anticipate and think and frankly, _ overthink _, the faculty party of the next day. He had back-to-back classes starting Monday at 10 and seemingly ending the next day at noon. The teeny break in between that he spent sleeping he had so much energy to restore and his neck and hands pained him so much that he near passed out on his couch when he made it home. 

Which is also where he woke up, on the couch and cursing himself, his body aching and protesting his _ stupidity _, loud and painful. 

Stephen had never attended a proper faculty party. Medical staff parties were one thing, very nerdy at times, with cocktails served in beakers and people coming in and out of the room chosen to unwind still in half scrubs, half civilian clothes; very fancy at others, namely when the purpose of the night was fundraising for the hospital or a charity of the Chief's choosing. But teachers? Stephen thought they might be a whole different species of party-goers. 

This tuesday afternoon was saved for clinic appointments this week so Stephen gave his last class of the day till the bell rang eleven and made his way out. He was getting better at this game, walking down hallways and staircases without getting shouldered or elbowed by oblivious teenagers; he got out and onto the parking-lot unhindered and yet, almost disappointed. Why though, that was something he wouldn't admit. 

Or maybe only very quietly, to himself, in his mind and with images and memories more than blunt words and sharp confessions. 

The party was set to start off at nine. Stephen decided he'd get there at half past that. There's never being late, and then there's the awkwardness of being the first to arrive and having to wait for other guests to file in. He thought he could spare himself that, if not the whole social side of parties and professional gatherings. 

A quick phone call to Christine had him clad in a white linen shirt, the collar cut in a V that didn't reveal much but could suggest enough to whom was looking for it. Stephen hoped Tony was. Then scratched that thought and flushed at his own teenage emulation. His pants were dark blue slacks in which he tucked his shirt, a light brown belt coming to clasp around his waist and that was it. 

Except for his hair. He did spend a rather long time styling it. But no one had to know that. 

Banner had approached him right after the meeting had ended the day before to offer him a lift back home after the party if he wished and Stephen, while surprised, had told him he'd let him know but _ "yes I might take you up on that offer". _ That Bruce would suggest it seemed odd but Stephen thought Tony might have something to do with it. He could only hope that he was right to trust that Tony hadn't disclosed the reason behind Stephen's ability to drive at night. 

It at least took care of that particular spike of anxiety, he had an out. It was also still early enough in the school year that summer hadn't totally gone to bed, pitch black darkness wasn't to be expected until at least half past ten. He'd just leave his car in the parking lot of the school.  
  
\---

Stephen arrived to a room already buzzing with assembled teachers, music of a relatively tasteful sort playing in the background and the tables and chairs that usually filled said room pushed to the sides and piled together. 

None of it registered once he'd spotted first the fiery red hair of Natasha, or Steve's white-shirt-clad broad back. Not when about a foot lower, Stephen saw Tony's face, glowing with gentle amusement and interest in whatever conversation they were in the middle of. His hands were flying in the air when he got around to replying whatever Steve had told him and Stephen felt rooted to his spot between the cheap wine and the sangria bowl. 

Tony's hands were always caught in a dichotomy of appearing sturdy and strong, used to the hard things of life and yet carrying any task or motion with the softest brush through the air, the warmest touch over any surface; even Stephen's skin and--

And Stephen didn't budge until someone bumped into his own hand of all places and he jerked to the side, a pained gasp forcing its way out of his throat without his say so. 

The person in question apologized profusely, Stephen didn't even look at them as he waved it all off. Doesn't fucking matter. He went to storm out and go calm down on one of the benches of the school yard. 

A hand at his elbow stopped him though.

"Hi," 

_ Tony. _

Stephen turned back around, he hadn't seen him move through the room. _ Fuck, burgundy shirts should be illegal. _

"Hello," Stephen replied, his voice still strained by the pain that radiated from his abused hand. 

"You were getting out? So soon?" 

Why did the concern lacing Tony's voice get to him so easily and profoundly so soon after he'd ever met the man when most of the people who'd ever shown they cared about him in the past had all but annoyed him? A mystery Stephen wasn't too keen on trying to pierce right now. Probably something to do with how genuine it looked on Tony, certainly something to do with how his hands twisted in his lap like he wanted to reach out so badly but didn't dare go past the small touch he'd stopped Stephen with in the first place. 

"I need some air." Stephen answered softly, much more softly than he thought it could come out. Somehow soft enough to prompt Tony's next question. 

"Mind if I join you?"

Stephen studied the expression on Tony's face, something he seemed to do so frequently lately it might as well be a hobby. What he saw allowed him to answer truthfully where he might have brushed him off a few years back. "No. I mean, no I don't mind." 

Tony nodded, both to himself and to Stephen it seemed, "Let's go then," he smiled and moved to get the door, his movements previse and graceful in the wheelchair, wide, as he rolled to the side to let Stephen pass and then come out in the hallway after him. 

Nothing else was said as they made their way down to the yard, the elevator ride down to the ground floor enough to fill Stephen with a sense of anticipation that had altogether no reason to exist and yet all the clues and stars seemed to align just to justify the reinforced tremor of Stephen's hands. 

The pain was back to a tolerable, matter-of-habit level but Stephen still had to make a conscious effort not to flex them. 

The cool air of the slowly advancing night felt heavenly as it flowed over his face and Stephen turned back to look at Tony right in time to see him sigh in pleasure. 

_ "Fuck _," he said before he could stop himself. Tony visibly straightened up in his chair in wonder.

"What?" 

_ Well. Might as well... _Stephen thought to himself. 

"I need to...There's something I'd like to…" Stephen huffed as his words got lost in Tony's honey brown eyes shining with sunset hues, "Can I kiss you?"


	7. It's something in his words (muted and yet)

Tony's eyes widened upon hearing Stephen's question. Stephen's jaw slacked slightly just from the shock of hearing it himself; never in a million years would he have thought himself capable of asking that, and even then, probably not as directly as this. 

He closed his eyes, gearing up for a humiliating refusal and various excuses fused through his mind as to why this wasn't what he'd meant to say, please ignore him, nothing to see here. He didn't get a chance to say any of that.

"Look at me." 

Tony's voice was so deep then, so filled with a mysterious emotion Stephen had to see to understand, so he complied. What greeted him was the sight of Tony's head cocked to the side and studying him. 

"I can't get up today. I mean I could but I'd rather not moan in  _ pain _ , right now." Tony gave him a careful, tentative smile, and Stephen's heartbeat picked up its pace. 

"Want me to, crouch? Lean down? Sit on your lap?" The last of it Stephen said laughing but blushing all the same. Diffusing tension wasn't his  _ forte _ nor was he sure this situation called for it right then.

"Just kiss me, Stephen, the logistics don't interest me much right now, I gotta say." 

Stephen forced his brain to quiet down - he looked into Tony's eyes, from their to his lips and back, and forth, and back. He nodded. To whom? Impossible to say.

The logistics indeed did not matter much, save for the fact that when Stephen did lean down to reach Tony's upturned face, his long arms naturally looped around his shoulders and he ended pretty much embracing him. 

He touched Tony's cheek with a tenderness that surprised the both of them, if the way Tony's lashes fluttered briefly could be trusted. 

Stephen reached forward then, his shaking and still frankly painful hand sliding in Tony's hair. There was a bout of hesitation still during which they breathed the same air - heavy, charged with so much in so little time it seemed and Tony was the one to breach the gap between them. 

Their lips met in a soft contact that made the flesh give and meld together. Stephen took a harsh breath through his nose while Tony's own breath hiccuped and their tongues met, delightfully hot and wet and Stephen wanted nothing more than to not be out here, in the open, but back behind the closed doors of Tony's house. He wanted to feel the whole of him and touch the whole of him and he kissed him again and again and again. The way Tony kissed back didn't leave a trace of doubt in Stephen's mind as to his enjoyment of it and wasn't that the best feeling he'd had in...ever? 

Tony's hands gripped Stephen's shirt before they traveled to his shoulders then to his hair, messing it up with a fervor that left them both breathless. 

"I--" Stephen tried but Tony didn't let him, he just kept kissing and kissing and kissing him, like a thirsting man clings to the oasis, like the shipwrecked grapples for the sand of the land, exhausted and exhilarated all the same. 

"Don't talk, just…" Tony heaved before abandoning all coherence and just going back to it. 

In the end, the only thing that managed to have them part and gazing into each other's eyes was their bodies reminding them other parts than just their lips existed. Stephen's back shouted at him to straighten up and Tony's neck protested against the prolonged strain as well, but neither man regretted the pain. 

They found a bench not too far away for Stephen to sit on and it should have been awkward, and maybe it was, a tad. But the silence between them was no longer tense, only elated. Their eyes spoke for them, something they seemed to indulge in often lately. 

It was peaceful, quiet, very different from Stephen's past experiences with  _ firsts.  _

Later, when Tony had had to go back in because he  _ was _ a chairman of the board and therefore had to charm a few guests into signing a few checks, Stephen went home.

He called a cab this time, totally forgetting Banner's offer to give him a lift when he wanted. He forgot practically everything, almost left his keys in the teacher's lounge - he was smiling like a soft lunatic and the only image his brain seemed able to hold onto then, was that of Tony's slightly swollen, definitely redder-than-usual lips. 

The cab driver was but a fleeting appearance, his face nor his voice managed to make an impression on Stephen, to cut through the fog of newborn sentiment and unweighted hope. It was a good feeling to wade in, one Stephen hadn't experienced all that often and he was resolute not to let go of it for at least some time - as long as his traitorous self-esteem let him have this, he would enjoy it. 

Stephen went to bed with a silly smile that still tingled of kisses and promises he surprised himself believing in. 

Even the nightmares he'd expected would come, as they always did whenever he felt like his life took a turn for the better, did not manage to dampen his mood. He dreamt of past fights with Christine, of the wreck his life had been when he woke up with useless hands and an even more shattered mind.

All it did that Wednesday was broaden his smile and make his eyes shine with the new light he thought was illuminating his path now. 

The next few days however,  _ those _ did sour his mood. Nothing to be done about it. Impossible to know whether he was imagining it or if he'd had too high expectations, had flamed up too high and too strong too fast only to invariably crash down - Tony regretted what had happened. 

Or at least, he made a damn good show of not wanting it to continue. 

Every time Stephen walked into a room where he could expect to see him, he either saw the back of his head or the back of his chair.

Not once in three days did he manage to catch the other man’s gaze or even hear his voice for lack of being close enough. 

A sickface emoji was the only thing he managed to send Christine as he called for help for the first time in forever. 

He was not good at this. 

She didn't need him to be.

Saturday rolled around and brought with it a freshly arrived Christine on Stephen's doorstep. He tried not to act like a lovesick puppy who'd just been kicked in the gut. Emphasis on tried. 

She saw through him better than if he'd been stainless glass. 

"First things first, you need to shower, Strange."

The woman had a point. Stephen knew better than to contradict her anyway. 

He went into the bathroom with the same heavy footsteps he'd moved around in for the last three days, unable to say if he was depressed or angry and if that, at whom? Tony, or himself, the world or maybe even Christine for encouraging this whole circus in the first place. The heaviness of the toll Tony's indifference took on him was so surprising it was absurd. 

Stephen Strange did not do pining. Stephen Strange did not do clingy. 

Nonsensical, that's what he was being and it was so utterly out of character that it infuriated him and left him exhausted all at the same time. 

His hands were stuck in their never-ending tremble, so much so that instead of drying his hair like he would usually do - with gritted teeth and a deathly efficiency - he left them to drip on his shoulders and wet his freshly changed clothes without a second thought. 

Christine gave him her killer nonplussed look, but he didn't allow it to reach him. 

"Are you going to tell me what this," she waved at him before pointing at various, messy, places around his flat, "is all about? Or should I guess, as always?"

"He regrets it." Stephen flopped down on the end of the couch across from her, drawing his legs against his chest as he usually did. 

She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him,  _ continue. _

"I... _ we kissed _ . Tuesday night, the faculty party thing." He said and was ready to call it quits but she glared at him while still smiling - God how women could be scary - he kept going, "Haven't said a word to each other since. Barely been in the same  _ room _ as each other since." 

Christine hummed. Stared. Laughed. 

"I'm sorry," she sobered up at what was certainly an outraged expression on Stephen's face. "You're just, you're such a drama queen, Stephen, I can't believe you." 

Stephen just kept staring at her, raising a very unconvincing eyebrow. 

"Don't you have his phone number? Something? Couldn't you have just...did you even try to talk to him this week?" 

She had this air about her, like she just  _ knew _ what he'd answer. So he didn't bother. She was right after all. 

"You know what? We're going to have a nice weekend, you and I, you're going to show me around Boston and the places you like and tell me everything about your life here, because God knows you're not talkative enough over the phone, mister. But above all, I want you to think about how stupid you've been. For all you know, your Tony's exactly in the same place you are, only  _ not _ , 'cause you're both idiots, apparently."

They did do that. All of it. Stephen thought deeply and confusedly about the eventuality of Tony feeling the same as he did, and resolved to "just talk to him" the way Christine said he should - like talking about that kind of him had ever been simple for him. 

He had to admit he'd truly missed her presence, and so he told her once Sunday night approached and she got into her car to head back to New York. He needed her in his life, had always needed her in his life, would always.

_ "Thank you."  _ He'd said, with words and eyes and hugs. For being here for him and for always, always calling him out when he was being an idiot. 

At this point, he wasn't even sure he wished he was more clever about these things, he wasn't sure he could ever navigate sentimental issues like other people did without her amused guidance. 

He once again went to bed with a head full of resolutions, decisions he was making and ideas of how to approach Tony, holding onto the hope that his best friend was right and they were simply both hopeless at communication. 

He didn't get a chance to test his theory. 

When Stephen got to the school on Monday morning, he searched for Tony's gaze through the crowd of teachers. He only found his target when the principal, out of option to be heard above the sheer noise, stood on a chair and whistled. 

"MIT School Trip related emergency," he announced, "Rogers is out sick, can't go, Stark, you still good?" 

Tony rolled up towards the man, nodding, "'course."

"Good. Strange," the principal made Stephen jump a bit, and seeing as he was looking for him, Stephen raised his hand in a mockery of a wave, "You're going with him. You have an hour to go home, pack a bag for three days. You’ll be staying out in Cambridge, right near campus. That's all folks, have a good day."

And that was it. No asking for his opinion, agreement, availability. Three days. With Tony Stark, and thirty kids. 

Stephen finally met Tony's gaze, it was distant, colder than what Stephen would have hoped to see, and he felt his heart sink some. Maybe Christine had been wrong then. Tony looked like he was studying him, searching for something. Stephen did his best not to let his feelings transpire, nodded, and left the room to go pack as instructed. 

The fact that the school had reserved separate rooms for the teachers was the only comfort Stephen could find.    
  
  



	8. (words, muted and yet) filled with my every need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this chap is late but, to make up for that (not really, the scene just called for it haha) it's also almost twice as long as my chapters generally are so yay for that!
> 
> Special shoutout to betheflame on this one -she betas all of them but I've needed every bit of advice she had for me as I wrote this time - for being the absolute best cheereader and the exceptional human that she is. Love you, you made this happen 💚

The distance between him and Tony that Stephen loathed, and yet wished for in equal measure, took a toll not two minutes after he got back from packing his three-day luggage. 

They were travelling by bus, and today being a wheelchair day for Tony, Stephen couldn't help but offer, albeit discreetly, to help. Tony gave him a tight smile and slightly shook his head at Stephen's outstretched hand. Fair enough, Stephen wasn't going to insist, he knew better than that. Nonetheless, the basic communication it required brought Stephen to glance at Tony more than he would have allowed himself during the hour and a half of driving they had.

The students were relatively quiet- suitably excited by the prospect of discovering M.I.T., manageably thrilled they would be spending two days away from home and staying at a hotel with their friends. 

Stephen couldn't stop looking at Tony. They were seated at either sides of the central aisle, both next to their respective windows. He caught him looking too, at times, but it was impossible to tell whether he was just annoyed or if he was observing Stephen too. 

Christine could say whatever she wanted, relationships were hard, even nonexistent ones. Stephen was lost, and growing frustrated at that. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt or the cuffs of of it, grazed his nails down his thighs or tapped loose fists on his knees - before remembering why that wasn't a good idea. Being in so deep in such doubts was painful, literally. 

An hour and a half was never going to be enough for Stephen to feel ready to face this day he’d never anticipated would go quite like this, but eventually the driver pulled up in the parking lot of M.I.T. and announced somewhat cheerfully that they had arrived. The kids applauded him, all in good spirit and Stephen smiled at the way some of them seemed enraptured by the sight of the old buildings they might go on to study in when the time came. Most of them weren’t his students, but he could still recognize a few faces he’d seen during the exploration phase of the year - when students were allowed to test a number of subjects before making their final choices, a formality for most who already knew what they wanted to do, hence most of these students were Tony’s and most engineering enthusiasts didn’t keep health for too long. 

The day passed surprisingly quickly, Stephen felt the pain of having walked all through campus all day, climbed countless sets of stairs, from the soles of his feet up to the back of his neck, and the kids weren’t faring much better. The clamor of the day and the excitement they’d displayed throughout their visits and particularly during lunch break where they were allowed to roam the grounds more freely, was all but gone, leaving cranky and hungry teenagers in their wake.

A few times, Stephen caught Tony’s amused gaze looking at him, as if sharing the hilarity one kid’s words or attitude sparked in him. Tony smiled at him, more and more through the day too. All so that Stephen didn’t understand anything anymore. Tony’s behavior did not make any sense and the final straw came not ten minutes after the driver had brought them all to the hotel they would be staying in for the next two days.

The look on Tony’s face when he came back from the front desk alarmed Stephen in about 0.2 seconds. It looked, not grim, but… uncertain? Bothered? Stephen couldn’t decide, but what was sure was that it certainly wasn’t a look that simply getting keys from the hotel’s clerk should warrant.

Stephen shushed the students, who’d taken advantage of the temporary inertia to unwind, loudly, and walked to Tony.

“Something wrong?” he asked, one of the few words he’d been able to address Tony all day. 

Tony shrugged, his eyes scanning the students for a bit before he looked at Stephen again. 

“There was a mix-up with the booking, kids will have to room by three, and you and I... “

“You’re kidding?” Stephen couldn’t help but exclaim, maybe a little too vehemently, if the look in Tony’s eyeswas any clue ( _ surprised and hurt?) _ , but this day really was starting to become too much, and Tony needed to fucking get his act together with his mixed signals. Stephen shook his head as if to clear it and started again, “So, three by three and you and I room together for the next two days? Fine.”

Stephen nodded, more to himself than to Tony and turned around to announce the news to the students, who were, of course, beyond thrilled by it. 

All but one who, unbeknownst to him, made it quite difficult for Stephen rein in his conflicted feelings about Tony. The student, Harley, Stephen remembered, appeared to have trouble controlling his breathing after the announcement and as Stephen got closer to them to see if there was anything he could do to help, he understood the kid was showing the signs of an oncoming panic attack. Routines shouldn't be broken, established rules shouldn't be shaken, the kid was lost and Stephen's hands itched with the need to comfort him but he wasn't needed - in a flash that took him back to that night at Tony's house, Stephen once again was privy to Tony's incredible panic management skills. He got up from his chair, hiding his wince quite successfully, and put a hand on each of Harley's shoulders. He gave him the semblance of privacy and point of focus he needed by directing his gaze towards him and him only, and one breath at a time, whispered to him until he quieted down, until the look in his eyes wasn't filled with tears anymore, until Tony could make him see this new turn of event as another way this trip was going to be fun. Stephen averted his gaze the second Tony looked up - when he gave the boy a side hug, and forced himself to breathe deeply as well. Damn, that man was too good.

Later that night, when Stephen was done making sure everyone had eaten their picnic dinners, showered and was ready to go to bed, he made his way to the bedroom he would be sharing with Tony. He stilled himself at the door for a bit, just took a few deep breaths to reel himself in and not lose it the second he would be alone with him, for the first time since  _ that night _ , since they kissed. 

He gave a brief thought to going back out for another few moments of stalling. Not the best idea, it would only had to his nerves, wouldn't it?

Stephen gave a cursory knock on the door before pushing it open and stepping in.

He did stall there though, just as he pushed the door closed behind him without looking at it. Tony was on the floor, legs spread in front of him clad in sweatpants instead of the jeans he'd worn all day. But more importantly, his face was twisted in pain.. 

Stephen realized he was on the phone just a second later when Tony looked at him and rolled his eyes before he spoke, "Yes Pep, I'll let you know, I gotta try to do this though or Steve will have my head. Ok, yes, I'll call you, bye, 3000 kisses for the angel. See ya."

There was a bout of silence which Stephen ended up breaking when his fidgeting annoyed Tony enough for the man to look up from where he was glaring at his knee. 

"Are you--" Stephen tried, then stalled again. He settled for, "Today was a lot." 

Simple, loaded still, and he winced when Tony huffed.

"I'm fine, Stephen, just tired."

And he looked it, too. Stephen's hands hitched from the need to reach out, something that seemed to happen practically every time he found himself alone with Tony, every time he got glimpses of who exactly this man was. The only problem was, while Stephen was a doctor first and foremost, he was also the survivor of an incredibly violent car accident. 

"May I call bullshit? Bullshit." 

The way Tony's eyes widened and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion was comical enough that Stephen chuckled. 

"I know pain when I see it, Tony, that's all I'm saying." Stephen's smile tampered down as the words rolled off his tongue and into the air. 

Tony studied him for a long time. Stephen sat at the foot of the bed, let him look, search, read. So many sparks coursed through his veins and up, up, up to his heart. He wanted to help, he wanted Tony to let him help, he wouldn't push it.

Stephen was sure Tony would tell him to fuck off, and it would be his right. At least the room had a couch, not just a bed. 

What came out instead, once Tony laid back on his hands behind him - and flinched in the process - took Stephen by surprise, although it made a world of sense.

"I have fibro, doc, this isn't unusual."

He thought about what he should answer to that, about what it meant that Tony told him that, further than that, what it meant for Tony to share this with him given the total lack of communication between them ever since the faculty party. 

Stephen let a few breaths pass, told himself that the trust that Tony put in him by disclosing his condition had nothing to do with any feelings he might nurse for him, even though it might. This wasn't a secret Tony was trusting him with, it was much more than that; it was something personal, that didn't define him and yet had grasps on how he lived life and enjoyed it. 

Stephen figured a response was expected at some point but he let himself slide off the bed, onto the floor, his knees to his chest and his feet touching the soles of Tony's. 

In the end, he settled on the simplest way he could express the myriad of emotions bubbling inside him. It came out just shy of emotional, it felt right.

"Thank you for telling me."

Tony scanned his face a moment longer before giving Stephen a brief nod. 

There were signs of fatigue everywhere Stephen looked, under Tony's eyes, sure, but mostly in the way his shoulders seemed painfully hunched and eating up an inch of his neck, in the way his left leg jumped faintly every other minute; signs that told what Tony couldn't; signs Stephen had learned to recognize long before he met this annoying, and breathtakingly beautiful man, long before he had to live with some of them himself. 

"Would you let me help? Just today, I mean, since, you know, since Rogers isn't here, you could tell me, could I--"

"You're rambling." Tony cut him off, and Stephen stopped talking immediately. He flushed a bit, bit his lip, gave a nervous laugh, prepared to apologize. He didn't have to. "I think…" Tony sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose for a second - a second Stephen spent trying to shut down the need he felt to smoothen Tony's brow with his fingers, or his lips or… "Yes." 

Tony's tone was final and yet buzzed with his uncertainty, the look in his eyes, the same dichotomy of nerves and will, of  _ "I'm not weak"  _ and  _ "fuck, the pain is unbearable" _ . Stephen thought he understood, even as his own pain could rarely be helped, if there was a way for Tony's to wind down even for a moment, he'd like to help. 

"Tell me," he tried to put as much of his own strength into his voice, as much of his assurance that Tony remained  _ the _ agent of this whole operation. An  _ "up to you"  _ between the lines. 

Another nod, more frank this time, and Tony seemed to relax a fraction. 

"There's a duffel, uh, on the chair I think is where Harley put it for me," Tony said pointing behind his shoulder but not turning around, his eyes boring holes in the wall behind the bed before jumping to peer into Stephen's eyes, piercing through and through and through, until Stephen felt as seen as Tony must have. 

Stephen got up and retrieved said duffel; it was black and lighter than he thought it would be. He stayed standing there, waiting for Tony to give him the go-ahead. Tony gave a short, nervous laugh. 

"Yeah, open it. I need the foam roller, leave the patches."

Stephen smiled at the way Tony's natural authority was seeping back into his voice, filling the cracks to project the confidence they both needed. He did as he was told before coming to kneel next to the man. 

"I'm keeping the sweats." Tony said, shaking his hands to a question Stephen hadn't asked. Stephen played along.

"Yes sir." He said with a soft smile. How they'd gotten to the many layers of unsaid between them in the space of such a short time of knowing each other was unfathomable, but Stephen's heart gave a harder thud when Tony managed to return his smile. 

"Can you… I need to lie on my side…" 

"A pillow?" Stephen thought back on the few sessions of PT theory he'd attended before he was free of med school.  _ The comfort of the patient.  _ The image of Steve's massage table came to mind as well. 

"Yes, that'd be grand." 

Stephen was already up and walking to the bed when Tony confirmed his guess. 

It took a few false movements before Tony managed to get settled, but Stephen felt he needed to do that part alone so he just gave him the pillow and waited.

Tony was facing the other way now, his back to Stephen, an arm under the pillow while the other worked to keep his balance with his palm flat to the floor. Stephen played with the foam roller in silence.

"You can… I'm ready." Tony breathed, slow and steady and Stephen nodded to the back of his head. 

He re-situated himself so he was kneeling by Tony's thigh, took the roller in hand and gently, so Tony both saw and felt it coming, let it press against the man's knee, just at the birth of his thigh and started. 

The slow and deep motions that went into rolling the foam over Tony's leg, from knee to hip, and again, were surprisingly relaxing. The tool in itself wasn't one Stephen had ever manipulated before. The patches Tony had referred to earlier, that he was much more familiar with - Tiger Balm patches, the savior of his neck in the months that succeeded his accident. 

Stephen tried to not go there, this whole moment  _ was _ about Tony, but there was no helping the echoes when it came to pain and the unbearably, ever-present reality of it. Stephen tried to time his breathing with Tony's tight, controlled long breaths. It was difficult. It was necessary.

What he could see of Tony's face out of the corner of his eye made Stephen's heart bleed for the man. He was always a rather dramatic man when it came to small disturbances, real struggles though? Stephen always lived through them in resigned silence and he had a feeling, the more he got to know the other man, that Tony was exactly the same.

It was easy to see how every time Stephen passed the roller where leg became hip, Tony forcibly relaxed his muscles not to jump, bit at thin air so hard the knot of his jaw bulged and his eyes wrinkled in the corners. Stephen knew it was all part of the process - actual, deep tissue massage wasn't nearly as pleasant to what you got in any given spa, most of the time it was downright painful. 

At some point, Tony held up a hand and turned, signalling they could stop on that side. He repositioned the pillow and Stephen stayed put, now facing Tony. Tony nodded, looking straight ahead instead of into Stephen's eyes, or anywhere on him for that matter.

It was even more intimate doing it from that side of Tony for some reason; a reason that had everything to do with the fact that Stephen now saw every little emotion that Tony tried so hard to suppress but couldn't, and they slid over his face in a never-ending ripple of pain, and relief, and pain, and anger, and resignation. 

Stephen's hands were mercifully not taking too much of a toll just pushing the roller back and forth onto Tony's thigh and hip, but this side must have been more painful for the other man as after a while he let out the smallest groan, and that groan morphed into a little cry of pain but the moan that came right after sounded like relief and yet Stephen couldn't be sure. It was a little disturbing how Stephen couldn't tell what the noises make and thus, couldn't decide if his own body reacting to it was shameful and rude or just plain natural. 

He tried to stay impassible and just keep going but then Tony shifted a bit on the next stroke and the change in position from the other thigh, Stephen being at Tony's front, meant that when he lost grasp on the foam roller and tried to pick it up before it fell, the back of his hand brushed the one spot Stephen had been extra careful not to either accidentally touch, or even look at.

The roller did roll to the side then. Because Tony was hard and Stephen's brain fried. For a second only though. A second of fleeting gazes that met Tony's eyes before they both looked elsewhere and blushed. Stephen twisted around to grab the roller again and keep going as if nothing had happened, he could do this, he could--

"I--" Tony stopped his wrist amidst Stephen balancing the roller for his other hand to grab the other end.

"It's a completely natural reaction to massage, Tony. The release of tension in your muscles provokes--"

"Shhh," Tony cut him off, "It's not that." Stephen couldn't stand not looking into his eyes then, to try and make sense of what Tony was trying to tell him. He saw brown, doe eyes, wide and not pleading but demanding he saw, what Tony was saying, what Tony wanted. 

"It's not?" Stephen prompted anyway, he'd been wrong too many times in this lifetime not to need more clues, anything. 

"Nah, doc. That's more my natural reaction to  _ you _ . Has been for a while if I'm honest. I just..."

"But," Stephen's cheeks flushed red, standing up for himself smoothly, without antagonizing others, was never his strong suit but damnit, he'd been too frustrated too long not to ask, "Why the radio silence then? Why the ghosting? Why--"

Tony gave him a wry smile, closed his eyes for a second before shaking his head and looking at him again. He answered on a shaky exhale, "I'm damaged goods, Stephen. I... Yeah, I don't do any of this, or at least I haven't in a long time and I'm, I'm not sure how to even do it anymore."

Stephen considered Tony's words. He couldn't brush it all off with a smile, much less an inconsiderate chuckle, he understood much too well where Tony was coming from, had thought the same things about himself a tad too many times to not give Tony's concerns the same credit. But then he remembered their kiss and he thought, what the hell. 

"Can you sit up?" he asked, and only shook his head slightly at the puzzled look in Tony's eyes. Tony did, with much less wincing than he'd first laid down with, Stephen noted satisfyingly. Tony's new position brought them much closer to each other and that was just as well. 

Stephen went slow, gave Tony ample opportunity to back away or push  _ him _ back, but he didn't, and so Stephen leaned closer and closer, until they shared first breath, then a kiss. 

They both gasped at the renewed contact of their lips, at the sensation of their mouths coming together again, that beat any memory of that first time, and built on it. Tony's hands found their way into Stephen's hair almost immediately, grabbing and desperate and everything Stephen needed to know about how welcome his kiss was, about how determined Tony was to make it all theirs. He pushed Stephen until he had no choice but first to slide off where he was sitting on his ankles, then lean back until his shoulders touched the carpet flooring and Tony followed him. He straddled Stephen's hips, still cradling his face with one hand and angling his head with the other, buried in his hair. 

Their tongues met and danced together, wet and hot and passionate and Stephen's heart beat so hard he could feel it in his ears and his hands shook harder than ever on Tony's hips and up his back and as they brushed the back of the man's neck. He felt his eyes tug down, like a drug slowly making its way through his veins and making him feel drowsy. Except nothing about him felt like sleeping, more like, every pass of Tony's fingers on his jaw and down his neck, every new motion of his hips that brought their groins together, every  _ breath _ either of them took that brought their chests flush together, all of it, made Stephen feel more alive than ever before. 

He knew he was gone on this man, had been for quite a bit now, and between two presses of their lips and licks of Tony's tongue at the seam of his mouth, Stephen gasped, "Don't go."

And Tony didn't stall, didn't act surprised, but took it in stride, redoubled his efforts of ravaging him, of taking every ounce of restraint Stephen had held onto for so long and answered only when he knew Stephen's mouth would stay open in a raw and red O, and he breathed between his lips.

"I'm not going anywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> Next chap next Wednesday! A chapter for your thoughts?


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